Bright & Dark

How did it get to be February?

January was a whirlwind of travel and writing — the travel to Austin twice for long weekends with friends and the writing mostly running through draft number two of The Heart of the World in preparation for workshopping at this month’s novel workshop on the Oregon coast. First Reader loved it and had such good comments. The book is so much better for them.

There has also been short story writing — the first assignment for the other workshop I’m attending in Lincoln City. The theme was loads of fun and the writing a continuation of the one scene at a time, focus on the emotion experiment. I’m very happy with the story, and happy it’s done and turned in on time.

Now there’s an enormous amount of reading to do — proposal packages from the novel workshop and one full novel, then the anticipation of a slew of short stories next week. And somewhere in there I’ll be on an airplane heading northwest.

In anticipation, I give you the Inn at Spanish Head’s sky cam, which updates every 7 minutes. Live, from the Oregon coast!

On Sunday afternoon, after a last push of 20,500 words, I finished the first draft of The Heart of the World with those happiest of finishing words: The End.

I was astounded that the experiment I undertook at the start held all the way through — focusing only on one scene at a time, focusing on the emotion in the scene. 120,000 words is a *lot* of scenes. A lot of emotion. I made a concerted effort to keep my critical brain out of my writing office during all of this, too, giving full reign to my creative brain and allowing my subconscious to be the boss.

The result was as I’d been told it would be but hardly believed. My bossy subconscious planted all the right clues at the right times without my having ever been aware of them.

Those threads of clues shone like gold all the way through without my ever having attempted to engineer them. Until I began to actually write the end sections of the book, I had no conscious idea as to how on earth I’d resolve the story. I mean, I had conscious general ideas, but I wasn’t married to them. The funny thing was, even my general ideas didn’t hold a candle to the ones my subconscious came up with. Twists and turns and where-the-hell-did-that-come-from. Those oh-so-important story points feel much more powerful and meaningful because of all that.

The book is now in my first reader’s hands. Then it’ll be workshopped on the coast in February and out into the world it will fly. The next story is on the horizon, and I plan to continue the experiment until it becomes not just an experiment but as natural as breathing.

Meanwhile, I give you some slam-bang motivation posts from the writer who started me down this particular road. This is number one. Read it and the next. And the next one after that. Great stuff.

Happy New Year!

If you’re not reading Dean Wesley Smith’s posts on motivation in writing, you should be.

Happy New Year’s Eve Eve. It’s been exactly a month since I last posted, and that’s too long. December has been a whirlwind of day job (office hours ’til 3 AM, oh boy), holiday shopping, holiday baking, and writing. I’m *this close* to writing THE END on the novel I started in July, after which there will be more whirlwind of getting it to my Trusted First Reader (TM) and then out to workshop for the February novel workshop on the Oregon coast. The story has launched its typical light-at-the-end-of-the-tunnel takeoff. I’m having to force myself to write only scenes at this point, and to focus, and not to rush toward the ending. Not to mention that my morning sitting meditation today found itself interrupted by potential upcoming plot points. I can live with that, and breathe with it to.

Breathe in . . . breathe out . . . BUT WHAT IF X HAPPENS? . . . Breathe in . . . breathe out . . . THEN Y!?!

and so on.

I’ve had a lovely Yule season, and I hope you have, too. There have been some amazing gifts of the material kind and more valuable ones of the not-so-material kind. I am reminded to be grateful for all the people in my life, and for all the love. And also for movies that knock my socks off. I’m not so enterprising (nor do I have so much time; see above re: *almost* end, and the need to actually write it) as to attempt a 2009 gratitude list at this point. And I’ve occasionally written these sorts of lists at other times of the year. So to prevent a case of supreme redundancy and time eating, here’s today’s top eleven list.

1. The people in my life who I happen to know. I love you. You know who you are.

2. The people in my life who I have yet to meet. Same goes.

3. This morning’s walk in the cold rain with the Doggie Ranger, replete with morning prayers and connectedness.

4. An awesome wiki article on Kabbalah that I actually had time to read.

5. Avatar. Still heavily on my mind since I saw it on Sunday morning. I’m going to have to catch it again, this time preferably at the IMAX which will NOT be sold out the next time I want to go.

6. Tea. Preferably Barry’s Irish, Gold Blend.

7. Blueberries, fresh and huge and bursting with juicy flavor.

8. Surprises.

9. Calvin and Hobbes.

10. Plenty of time to write.

11. That I get to take my lunch hour at 9:15 tomorrow morning to go to Nia. There will be dancing! And Queen Latifah!

Best wishes, everyone.

Step 1: Boot the computer.
Step 2: Butt in chair.
Step 3: Fingers on keyboard.
Step 4: Plug into the work in progress.
Step 5: Write. Rinse. Repeat.

If you do this over and over again, eventually you will have a completed story or novel or [fill in the blank]. If you don’t do it, whatever you dream of writing, whatever story you dream of telling, will remain just that — ephemera.

I’m continuing to work on the current novel in progress, one showing-up at a time. It appears that over the weekend I’ll cross the 300 page mark and the road to the end will begin for the characters. Or at least they’ll think they can see the sign over the highway that reads THE END, 150 PAGES.

Personally, I’m ever so happy to see that sign, or to anticipate that I will look up sometime soon and lay eyes on it. Although I’ve probably had more fun and more mystery in writing this book than with any other I’ve written, The Dreaded Middle (also known as The Hundred Miles of Desert Remaining Before We Reach the Oasis) is still hard to write.

The beginning of a book is loads of fun. Exciting. Like finding and exploring an adventure for the first time. Like unpacking after a move, only it’s not the same old stuff in those boxes — it’s all new and interesting.

The middle of a book? That’s when all the boxes have been unpacked and you’re got most or all of the stuff put in its place and all the cardboard broken down and taken to the recycling center and you’ve been living there for a while and there’s stains on the carpet from where the cat’s thrown up a hairball and where your neighbor tracked in mud after a rain and the sink’s full of dirty dishes. Okay, maybe it’s not *that* bad. After all, there are still new people who show up on the page and there’s still mystery for those of us (like me) who don’t outline before we begin. And yet, with most of the fun planning finished, it can still feel like a lot of work. Here is where the showing up really counts. Show up often — every day if possible. Show up with commitment.

That’s easier than it sounds. Or not; commitment is a serious-sounding word.

What is commitment about, exactly? Is it about dedication? Maybe. I’m dedicated to finishing this book no matter what it takes, whether I think it’s crap or a masterpiece, whether I succeed or fail spectacularly. At least there will be a spectacle, right?

Is commitment about obligation? If it is, who or what is the obligation for or to? The story? If I don’t tell it, it doesn’t get told. Even if someone else is writing a story just like it, it will be their story and because it’s theirs it will be very different from mine. To write the story my way, in my words, is the only way it will ever be told. Is the obligation to myself? Sure. This book is not under contract. I didn’t promise it to anyone. No one else will ever really care whether or not it’s finished. No one, that is, except me.

Can commitment be about joy? There’s the joy of having matched a goal (I will write 1,000 words today) and finishing a chapter with a glorious cliffhanger and starting the next chapter with a hook that can’t be denied. There’s the joy of knowing that, whatever I’ve committed to do, I’ve done. I’ve honored it — myself, the story, my time.

So, I commit to the middle. I try to experience it as more about the joy. And when it’s not about that, it’s still about showing up.

Do that and eventually I’ll get to the end, which is almost as much fun as the beginning. There’s discovery and tying up storylines and driving the punch of the story home to the heart. So much satisfaction. It’s one of the best feelings on my scale of 1 to 10. It’s right up there. I don’t have to make myself sit down to write.

Of course, a story would never get to that point without a middle, would it?

I raise my glass to the glorious, commited middle of my novel. And then I put my butt in the chair and my fingers on the keyboard and tell some more story. It’s the only way I know.

Sliante!